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Rasta Claus
by Amit Parmessur

After smoking marijuana with some Mexican friends
I flew into the red Mexico City sky and
grabbed a few clouds to make an M and an E.
I also made an R
a T and a Y, and an A.

I stole the round moon too,
squeezing it into my pocket.

I rested for a few days.

Then, I repaired my rusty chariot
to meet Superman and borrow his super S.

You know, I always roll on the floor
like a roaring, golden lion whenever I think
of you all waiting for my big bro Santa!
He’s a cheat.

Anyway, I tore the big cross off my exercise book
from the days I failed the Santa Claus course
and became Rasta Claus.

Everything almost set! just missing you.

I sat down, rubbed my hands,
thought furiously and my clever mind
shone amidst the fragrant smoke!

I pounced pitilessly on a flying green bird
and got a V.
I took the V and
threw it against the wall— it banged into a U.
I photocopied the R and the M.

Don’t ever forget, your body is the real temple!
O African children, don’t go to church!

I’ve worked so hard just to say

Let’s spend Christmas in loud reggae, at home!
Jah Ble$s! Peace!

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